


Misunderstandings

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cassandra and anger issues, F/M, Gen, Varric and snark issues, a bit of an angst-fest, more to be added - Freeform, resolution?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: Yet another Cassaric fic. Angst and hopefully fluff.Misunderstandings and anger abound. What is Cassandra ticked about now?
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras
Kudos: 10





	Misunderstandings

The soft scent of peonies gave him a split-second’s warning before her gauntleted fists slammed onto his writing table. The concussion splattering ink all over his latest draft of Hard in Hightown. Sighing, he set his quill aside. Gathering himself for the confrontation he dragged his fingers through his hair and scrubbed his face with his hands. Looking into her irate gaze, disappointment shot through him at her fiery glare. He’d thought they’d made progress. That they were moving from comrades-in-arms to actual friends or hell, friendly acquaintances at the least. Unable to control the sigh that escaped him or the slump of his shoulders. Maker only knew what he’d done to piss her off this time. At least he’d find out sooner rather than later at this rate. Andraste’s crumpled knickers, maybe this was a sign that he should just give up. Maker knew all his forays into romance resulted in rift-sized disasters. Corypheus’ hairy sack, he should just stop while he was ahead.  
Raising his head, he addressed her raging fury.  
“Is there something I can do for you, Princess?” He pushed down his disappointment, Varric shifted gears to “merchant prince” smarm and watched as her glare intensified. His heart rate sped up as he realized that her current level of fury had robbed her of the ability to speak. Shit. He recognized that look from Kirkwall, and post-Hawke revelations at Skyhold. He wracked his brain, what the hell had caused this? And why was he in her sights again? He barely heard her growled, “Varric.”  
Working with the Merchant’s Guild and being Bartrand Tethras’ brother had helped hone Varric’s diplomacy skills. He could disarm an enraged king with a few well-tuned jests, or sweet-talk his way out of life or death situations with ease. He’d managed to enrich the Inquisition and himself by understanding when and how to employ the “favors” he owed and was owed. He managed to do so without making the owee or ower feel dishonored or disrespected. Ruffles had pulled him aside after overhearing a deal or two and had indicated her approval with her trademark nod. He’d given her a bottle of her favorite Antivan brandy in thanks. Not so with one Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena "Even-More-Names-She'd-Never-Tell-Him" Pentaghast.  
He tried to bring himself back to face the angry Seeker before him. He cleared his throat and surveyed the damage done to his writing.  
“Maferath’s balls, Cass! Now I’m going to be dodging my editor’s literal blades. You couldn’t have collared me when I wasn’t writing out the latest chapter in the serial that pays my freaking bills?!” Her face flushed darker with either rage or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell. He saw her gauntlets tighten even further on his table, wincing as he realized he’d have to ask one of the carpenters to refinish it, again. “Act of Cassandra” should count for a discount somehow, no matter how many times Harrit said it didn’t. He didn’t miss her growled comment this time.  
“You arrogant, lying, unmitigated bastard.” The wood groaned as she tightened her hands yet further. The creaking of the wood drew her attention to where her hands were. She flushed a darker shade and loosened her grip. His sigh of resignation cut off her diatribe. He knew there would be repercussions for his interjection, but he was just so damned weary of being the brunt of her accusations all the time.  
“Alright, Princess, what did I do this time?” He cringed when he heard the wood crack. He tried not to chuckle when he saw the flash of horror cross her face. Then he ducked when she chucked the broken pieces at his head.  
“You BASTARD!” She spun on her heel and stormed off to the training dummies. Mystified, relieved and furious that he was going to have to commission a new table, he left the great hall in search of Harritt. It would take at least a week for the replacement table to be finished. In the meanwhile he was going to have to start writing somewhere else.  
Maker knew it was going to be a hell of a long week.


End file.
